


Back on Tracks

by Balaclava



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Post Reichenbach, Pre-Relationship, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:00:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Balaclava/pseuds/Balaclava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade can't help but think that Sherlock is alive so he decides to look for clues.</p><p>Lestrade centric, post Reichenbach story. Mentions of Sherlock BBC canon. I do not own anything. (Beta-read and Brit-picked.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back on Tracks

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to Schermionie and Claire, my two best friends who helped me with the story.  
> THANK YOU to Recurringdreams for accepting to beta-read it for me, she's the best. All mistakes were added afterwards.

It's been only three weeks since his brother's death; three weeks that Sherlock has left them all behind and Mycroft didn't expect to see him for some time. Considering the task that Sherlock wanted to accomplish, Mycroft has very well understood that his brother needs to be alone. Sherlock is a man of action, a man who goes on the field – the battlefield – and when the moment came to ensure the security of the only people he cared for, it had to be done by his hand. Mycroft provides all the help he can. He monitors every movement making sure that Sherlock isn't doing anything stupid. 

Mycroft's part, the bureaucrat's part, is to prove the world that Moriarty was a very bad man, and that Sherlock is innocent. It's eating a lot of his time, but it's his duty. Mycroft can't help but feel the guilt. 

The office in his house is unusually warm for a June evening, but Mycroft doesn't feel it. He focuses on the task at hand, ignores the heat. What he does register is the clicking step of Anthea's heels approaching his door. She doesn't give any notice before entering, instead she barely knocks and enters without waiting for an answer. Mycroft knows at once that something is amiss.

“Your brother has been seen in London, Sir.”

Mycroft didn't expect him to come so soon, only this morning he was in Austria on the tail of one of Moriarty's lieutenants and there was nothing to prove that he had succeeded on eliminating the threat.

“Where is he directed?” 

“John Watson's new flat.”

Mycroft breathes in deeply.

"Close my files." He gestures to the desk behind him. "I will see you in the morning."

Mycroft grabs his phone, his suit jacket, and a set of keys he barely use anymore. He can't wait for the morning to see if his brother is safe. Is he directing himself to John, his only friend, or to John Watson, the doctor? Why didn't he asked for Mycroft's help to comeback to London? 

Mycroft speeds more than he usually does. The gearbox feels out of practise; the Jaguar has scarcely been used. A shame, but Mycroft doesn't like driving inside London, and he doesn't have the opportunity to drive anywhere else.

The traffic is dense but fluid. Mycroft is thankful it isn't raining.

While driving, he thinks of the video of the fall. When they announced his brother's death, Mycroft asked to see the video. He couldn't believe it and he was right. He has been playing the video daily. He needs to make sure his little brother is alright. He speeds just a little more, ignores the red light.

  
  


***

  
  


It's been only three weeks since the consulting detective died and Lestrade is devastated. A lot of things happened within the last fortnight. He was forced to resign. His wife walked away to spend time at her sister's. Another break, she had said. He knows that it's wrong. She lives closer to the PE teacher now. Things are what they are; he is alone.

Everything feels empty in the three bedroom flat. He's tired and feels guilty, but he doesn't show it. It's eating him from the inside. He does what he can to feel better, which is always something stupid, but it never stops the guilt. Ever since he had noticed that there  was activity on one of Sherlock aliases three hours after his death, he couldn't shake off the feeling that Holmes had never actually died. Gregory Lestrade knows that he is in denial - searching for proof that Sherlock isn't dead. It's a very stupid thought; the inspector is aware of that. He just doesn't care; he doesn't want everything he used to cherish to disappear. It gives him something to focus on.

Sherlock was good with tricks and shocking people. Not being dead when everyone thinks he is, that's definitely in his workings, and Greg knows it.

He supposes it's the guilt speaking too. What if he hadn't listened to Donovan? Who knows? Why has he ever doubted the consulting detective who had never failed them? Sherlock is, was, a genius, and he's known it since that first day.

Since Lestrade doesn't work for Scotland Yard anymore, he's back to the old method of getting information: networks. He has made friends during his years with Scotland Yard; it isn't too difficult for him to get what he needs. Gregson even lets him use his account for the Yard website since his has been deactivated.

Lestrade looks for anomalies in the neighbourhood Sherlock used to hang around. He also searches for activity on Sherlock's cards. He's browsing the list of names of potential drug dealers according to the Met snitches when one catches his eye.

The name has been reported only this evening, in one of Sherlock's old areas. He had used it only once six years ago to access a crime scene related to the biggest drug dealing scandal of the decade. It's the crime over which he and Sherlock met. The younger man had been a client of the murdered drug dealer, and he had known things only the killer could know. Deducing it, he had explained. At the time, Sergeant Lestrade was the only one to believe him when he had said he knew the killer. This had to mean something.

He stares at Sherlock's alias and doesn't know much what to do of this information. It can't be a coincidence, a man buying drug under the name Edgar Poe. 

Lestrade doesn't want it to be a coincidence. There's something in his guts telling him that Sherlock is still out there. He can't ignore this information. The shadow of a dead man showing up twice within three weeks; _it is something._

He can't bring this new clue to the Yard. It'd mean nothing to them. He needs to this on his own, or with someone he can trust. Someone who trusted Sherlock too. He is aware that the perfect candidate would be John. John, who isn't on speaking terms with him right now.

He tries to call anyway. It rings, but the doctor doesn't answer the phone. Lestrade needs to go.

He takes the motorbike. It's been the only good thing about not working for the Yard anymore, being able to take it for a ride again. The traffic is awful in the city, but Lestrade is determined to meet with John. He's never wanted to share his silly theory – Sherlock being still alive – with anyone, but he can't help it now. Even if it's not Sherlock, he can't overlook the fact that someone is using one of Sherlock aliases within his old networks. He won't overlook the fact that he is convinced it is actually Sherlock using it. Yet, he doesn't know how he will be able to explain it to John who is grieving and doesn't need this at the moment.

He will think about this later. For now, he focuses on the road. Driving at night as always been a favourite hobby of his.

He is stopped only two streets from John's new flat. He sees the black car override the red light and hit the back of another vehicle crossing the road. He's not an officer anymore, but he can't help becoming one again, if only for a few minutes. Lestrade is efficient; he knows how to handle these kinds of things.

He is relieved when he sees the female driver that the car has just hit getting out on her own, safe although shocked. She starts rambling on how the man hit her, that it wasn't her fault. Lestrade sees she's all right and ask her to call an ambulance and the police. He can see the man in the black car is still inside.

When he approaches, several passers-by come to help. He takes out his now illegal and void police ID card from his jacket and asks people to just stay away, to make a perimeter. It doesn't seem that the car is going to explode, but better be safe. And people tend to make thing worse in those cases.

Once he opens the door of the car with some difficulty, he recognises the man inside. He's only seen him twice, but it is without a doubt Sherlock's older brother. He is unconscious but has a pulse and doesn't seem much hurt. Only when the airbag had disengaged can he see an ugly burn on his neck.

Lestrade stays with the man until the medics arrive. He doesn't know why he doesn't give the identity of Mycroft Holmes to the medics. He lets them look for a contact on the locked phone. Still, he inquires for the hospital he will be transported before clearing off the scene.

The accident has him thinking. Sherlock's brother was speeding off toward John's flat. It seems unusual. The former inspector can't discard the thought that Mycroft was going to visit John for the same reasons as he was. His crazy theory seems even more plausible now.

Whether it is, Sherlock's ghost or actually Sherlock, the result is the same and Lestrade needs to find out the answer.

Once Mycroft Holmes in good hands, Lestrade straddles his bike and continues to his destination.

  
  


  
  


John's flat is on the second floor.When he reaches it, he hears voices coming from it. One is undoubtedly John, and the other…

The inspector doesn't bother with knocking and opens the door. John's on his feet, surprised. Sherlock simply greets him from behind the pack of frozen peas he's holding against his jaw. Lestrade wants to say something, to yell at him, to be relieved, but he only can mutter a few words about Mycroft Holmes being in the hospital.

If Lestrade had wished for Sherlock to be alive, had imagined it, it still comes as a surprise. At John's request he explains to them Mycroft's accident and why he was coming here not letting Sherlock out of his sight.He wants to yank the black curls of the detective, just to prove himself it's really him. But he can see the purple bruise starting to appear on his face, and thinks that John must have already taken care of that.

Sherlock Holmes is very much alive.

Sherlock seems unfazed by the shock he has just caused to the former inspector. He mutters something about the stone being too big. John sighs and sits on the only other chair of the flat leaving Lestrade on his two feet.

"This is the moment when you usually make tea, John."

But John only stares at Sherlock, who turns over the pack of peas. It makes a funny sight and Lestrade can't help but laugh. It was real. His impression was accurate and Sherlock never died. He doesn't know, he doesn't why, but it doesn't matter right now. The inspector will want explanations, but for now he only wants to know why he came back.

"Did he explain?" His first question is for John, he doesn't trust himself to speak with Sherlock just yet. He observes him, the bruise is looking more and more painful.

John shakes his head. "I got here only three minutes before you. Only had the time to punch him, really." 

"You aren't supposed to be here, Lestrade. You said my brother was on his way too. Why?"

Lestrade breathes in, and readies himself to answer. He's used to Sherlock demanding manners, he knows that it would be useless to ignore him. But he's cut by John's voice.

"I don't think you are in the position to ask anything, Sherlock."

"I need to know." The inspector can see that Sherlock is not comfortable, and that's good to witness. It feels like time as stopped within the skimpy room. The only furniture is probably the set that came with the flat, the walls are bare and yet, it feels like they will witness history.

"Why did you come back, then?" Lestrade asks his own question.

He sees Sherlock smile.

"It's a long story, Lestrade."

"Well, no one is waiting for me. And I think John will agree with me, we want to know."

Sherlock nods and is serious again.

"When you said that you had seen my aliases coming up on your screen again," Sherlock begins, "it wasn't that I was being careless."

He meant to be seen then. To be believed alive at least. And Sherlock explains them all.

He tells them that he jumped because he needed to be a shadow to destroy Moriarty's web of crime. That all had been planned in advance. Dead, he could do things and collect information he couldn't have accessed otherwise. Sherlock asserts that he had to be thought dead by everyone.

"Did Moriarty commit suicide before or after the jump?"

The inspector knows it was suicide; the autopsy was clear, but they couldn't accurately pinpoint if it was anterior to Sherlock's fall or not.

"Before."

It doesn't make sense and despite John and Greg insist that he clarify why he had faked his death if Moriarty was dead anyway. Sherlock doesn't explain himself.

The doctor states they deserve to know why it was so imperative for him to jump. Why wasn't he part of the plan? Sherlock answers, "I can't explain now, John."

Lestrade feels like he is the one preventing him to speak, but he doesn't mean to leave. Not now. They will have time for explanations later.

Sherlock's tale starts after his jump. James Moriarty's death didn't mean that the organisation died with him. Sherlock had needed to understand how it worked to take it down.

Lestrade doesn't think Sherlock fancied himself a judiciary; it seems to have been a personal vendetta.

Sherlock shifts when Lestrade mentions that to him. His pack of peas has defrosted, and John gets him ice wrapped within an old kitchen towel. The detective resumes his story.

James Moriarty was a man who liked to work alone, which made Sherlock's job easier. The mafia working for him quickly turned to other people. Most of his 'employees' faded away when their boss was announced dead. His hitmen were hired on demand and weren't any trouble to Sherlock once Moriarty wasn't there to pay them. Only a few remained loyal to Moriarty, pursuing his criminal activities, and those, it was Sherlock's mission to take care of them.

When the detective says it, Lestrade can see John's hand clench into a fist. They both know what it means, and they would rather not think about it. But Sherlock only laughs at their faces, "my hands are still clean, do not worry." Lestrade and he don't have the same notion of cleanliness, surely.

He explains them that most funding came through very 'legal' importation companies and that the loyal employees of Moriarty were paid via those ones. He only had to take the companies down to expose them.

When Sherlock mentions the names, he remembers it being on the news only last week. Three major English companies exposed as fronts for arms dealing. It was a big scandal, they said the government was closing its eyes to them because of the taxes. 

Sherlock's tale is not finished though. He sets aside the ice.

"There is still one man. The closest to Moriarity and he's out there."

One is reassuring; Sherlock took care of tens of men on his own whilst playing dead. They can help.

"He is the most dangerous, and he knows I am the one who finished his friends. The one who witnessed Jim dying," there is disdain in Sherlock's voice.

"This is personal then." John states and Sherlock nods. The doctor starts pacing the room. Lestrade feels a migraine coming.

"How do we take care of him?" John asks and it's we, obviously, including Lestrade.

Sherlock shakes his head. "I don't want the Met involved."

"Good. I'm not in the Met anymore."

This clearly surprises Sherlock, but he doesn't mention it. What he says is, "I am the bait."

The bait for what, the inspector doesn't understand.

Sherlock must have seen their expressions because he rolls his eyes and starts to explain.

"Moran knows I am alive and wants to change that. I make him sure to know I am in London."

Moran is impossible to find. He is not a clever man, but he knows how to hide. Sherlock wants the rat out of his nest, and he is going to use himself as the bait. Somehow, it doesn't sound to Lestrade like he plans only on having the man arrested.

Sherlock explains that he left hints for Moran to see he was in London. The stones he talked about earlier.

"Why wasn't I meant to see the stones?"

"It's only between him and me. And possibly John."

John breathes loudly. "Of course I am in." Sherlock nods.

"But we need to act faster than I thought. If Lestrade and my brother know I am here, the word can spread quickly, and I need to have the advantage here."

Sherlock has lost them again. It feels only natural, and Lestrade laughs. It doesn't destabilise Sherlock.

"I need Moran where I want him to be and when I want. If you knew where to find me, if my brother knew, it means I don't have the advantage again. Thankfully you moved out, John. Baker Street would have been too obvious. That's where Moran will probably search for me first."

"So, what do we do?"

"We lure him in, and we kill him."

"Right." John was clearly expecting that, but he looks at Lestrade still for confirmation – _it's alright, isn't it?_

"I have proof that Moran killed his two nephews and Moriarty helped him conceal it. You are not going to be a problem, Lestrade?"

"I am not on the force anymore," is the only thing he trusts himself to say.

Lestrade calls it a night soon after agreeing to help them. He doesn't want to. He would prefer to have the man arrested, but he knows that for some reason Sherlock wants personal revenge and that he will most likely get it.

So he has no choice but help them.

It comes as a surprise to him that Sherlock suggests for him to stay at Greg's place. It's safer, Sherlock explains. People weren't meant to be able to find him so quickly. His homeless network spread the word too soon, and John's rental flat could be targeted easily enough. John wouldn't be in any kind of danger if Sherlock isn't in the flat, but he follows them anyway. There's room enough.

The former inspector will give Sherlock's his oldest son's room. Andy sleepwalks; they had his window condemned and a bell on his door signals every opening. John seems a little reassured with this measure; Sherlock can't escape them.

They've got nothing to do but plan now. Lestrade doesn't exactly know what they have to plan for. He makes a coffee pot and installs it on the table near the computer and the stack of papers he was working on before. It almost looks like a proper HQ room.

Lestrade is a little disappointed when he realises there was no need for theatrics. The plan is simple enough. Tomorrow, it'll be whispered that Sherlock is back in Baker Street. Mrs Hudson will be called at her sister's early in the morning for at least two days. They will settle inside the flat and wait for Moran.

John's got a gun, and Sherlock has one too. Lestrade recognises what must be an old cop's gun surely bought on the black market. It won't be a fair fight, two arms against one, but none of them really care.

"How're you sure he will go inside?" Lestrade asks.

"Moriarty had a certain love for explosive," John reminds him. He is the one to know.

"But Moran is an army man. He wants to be on the battlefield. It's personal."

And they trust Sherlock because there is no other way. The younger man goes to bed, leaving John and Greg with their questions and their doubts.

John sits on the sofa and Greg follows.

"Almost back to normal, yeah?" The inspector looks over the Doctor. John has his elbows on his knee, his eyes staring right in front of him; he seems lost.

"How are you?" Lestrade asks this time.

"I'm the first one he came back to see."

Lestrade understands it means he almost forgives him for faking his death. Almost.

"But still, you would have liked an explanation."

John nods and adds, "In time. For now, let's go to bed."

Lestrade doesn't sleep well that night; Sherlock's plan to be bait doesn't make him want to rejoice.

He's awaken at six thirty by the bell on Andy's room. When he exits his own bedroom, he can see that John's already up. The dark marks beneath his eyes are the proof that he's not the only one who has had a bad night.

Sherlock doesn't greet them; he goes straight to the computer. He informs them that Mrs Hudson should be gone by eight, but that they'll have to wait yet another day before going inside. He's leading Moran out of the neighbourhood first.

It's the first time Lestrade sees Sherlock being so cautious. Those three weeks playing dead have changed him somehow.

"Will you inform your brother?" John inquires.

Sherlock's noise is categoric. It seems a little unfair to Gregory, because if someone could help them, it's Mycroft Holmes. Everything would go smoothly, and no one would have to kill anyone.

Still, he proposes Sherlock to take the second gun. Sherlock's never killed anyone. John has, and Greg too. Only once, but he knows how it feels and no matter how bad the guy was, it's not a feeling he wants his friend to experience.

Surprised, Sherlock nods. Lestrade sees John smiling at him.

Lestrade leaves for the hospital a little before eight. He wants to see Mycroft Holmes, to inform him his brother is actually alive since Sherlock won't do it himself. He doesn't plan on saying anything about Sherlock's plan; he owes Sherlock that much.

When he arrives in the hospital room, the elder Holmes is standing, putting his vest on. Well, if he didn't want to be disturbed, he shouldn't have left the door slightly ajar.

The man does look like he's just had an accident, white as a sheet, the burned skin visible and probably painful.

"Detective Inspector." If he is surprised by the intrusion in his room, he doesn't let it show.

"Former detective inspector." He corrects. "About last night’s accident," Lestrade starts.

"It's all taken care of." Mycroft Holmes is fully dressed now, mobile in hand, ready to go. Yet it doesn't seem like a smart idea.

"I think you should at least wait for a proper bandaging for the burn."

The man doesn't bother answering, returning to his phone.

"Your brother is alive. That's why you were speeding, weren't you?"

Mycroft looks at him and sighs.

"I... Yes. I am to meet him now." His dead brother coming back from the dead and the man doesn't even seem taken aback. The tone is conversational, but bordering on you-are-annoying-me-now.

"He's at my place." Lestrade blurts out. He doesn't explain why they've moved to his flat.

Sherlock won't probably want to meet his brother, but Lestrade can't lie to the man. The older Holmes probably knows where he is anyway.

They walk together to the door, conversation kept at the minimum. Lestrade says to him that Sherlock is in good health. He is a little surprised when the other man tells him he already has his address.

When they arrive outside, Mycroft Holmes's assistant is waiting for him.

"You asked about Martha Hudson, sir. She's been sent to her sister yesterday evening."

Mycroft seems surprised, and that catches Lestrade's eye.

"Not your doing, then."

"No, we've had her on light vigilance only."

Then there is something that Lestrade must say. Because if Mrs Hudson has been sent away yesterday, it means either that Sherlock is lying, or that something is going on.

The detective inspector briefs the older Holmes on what had been said last night and this morning.

"Anthea, send a team to Baker Street. Outside, surveillance only. I shall go to meet my brother at Mr Lestrade's place."

"Going by car will take you at least twenty minutes, I am going ahead." Lestrade nods toward the bike and kicks off as soon as possible.

When Lestrade arrives, he can see that John and Sherlock have left already. He tries ringing John, but the doctor doesn't answer. He thinks of ringing Mycroft, but realises he has no idea how to reach the man. He needs to go to Baker Street as soon as possible.

He writes a note and is about to stick it on the front door when he sees a black Jaguar park, both Anthea and Mycroft Holmes stepping from it.

Their driver calls Lestrade, and the former detective is surprised to see him handing him a gun. He hides it under his jacket.

"We must reach Baker Street at once. The team is almost ready, but there is no danger yet. The camera feeds shows no activity of the man my brother identified as Moran; it's still time to take them somewhere safe."

"You have a second helmet surely?" Mycroft adds.

Lestrade looks at Mycroft oddly. The bike can take two people, he's done it times enough. Emma, his sons and years before that Rob who probably loved the bike more than him. But the thought of taking Mycroft Holmes on it is scary.

"Your wife's would do," Anthea says. And Greg understands that she would be her passenger.

"She'll be my liaison," Mycroft explains. Lestrade could swear that the man is fighting back a smile.

They park the motorbike down Baker Street. Anthea's on the phone with her boss. John and Sherlock are inside; Moran is nowhere to be found yet. They need to go in the flat and take Sherlock out of there.

When they reach 221B, Anthea gestures at the window on the second floor. There is someone, probably the idiot consulting detective, at the window. Lestrade takes the stairs two per two.

The door on the kitchen is open and John is waiting for them. He pushes them inside and locks it.

"I knew it, John! I told you he would tell Mycroft. How did you work out so quickly that we were here?"

John doesn't let Lestrade explain himself.

"You and her, you cover the kitchen door. Sherlock and I will be in the living-room. Moran should be here soon."

It's a John that Lestrade has never seen. Authoritative and worried. He doesn't dare contradict him.

The doctor has them position themselves. He sees Anthea texting. Probably Mycroft.

They wait in silence, not moving for ten minutes. Lestrade should dread the moment Moran will enter the flat, but he is excited. Two weeks without a case, brooding in his flat were more than enough. He needed action, to feel useful.

A vibrating sound echoes in the quiet flat, Sherlock's mobile. "Be ready."

Moran choses the kitchen door, which surprises them. The tall man fires once, scrapping Lestrade's arm, but Lestrade fires back and hits the man in the calf. The wounded man loses his balance, and John fires too. He hits the knee and the man falls. Anthea has the presence of mind to disarm him and call for reinforcement. Sherlock points his gun at the man face, and John has to stop him from firing. The man is arrested and evacuated. An ambulance is waiting outside for Lestrade.

Mycroft Holmes enters the flat and sees Sherlock gun in hand. It's the first time that Greg sees a Holmes at loss although it only lasts half a second.

He doesn't know what he expected - a hug, a shake of hands - but surely not this. Sherlock's disdainful face, "someone take away this gun from me." He glares at his brother. “I _wouldn't be responsible for my actions”_  is implied.

John executes his order and seems as taken aback as the other people in the room. Mycroft closes his eyes briefly, nods and turns away.

"He's your brother, Sherlock." John states and Sherlock snorts.

"He only wanted to help you here." It's nice having a brother who cares about you, no matter what. Lestrade's brother is currently helping is ex-sister-in-law in getting a divorce and getting his sons away from him just because he doesn't understand the life he's had before marrying Emma.

"He could have ruined it all!" Sherlock yells. He launches himself at the sofa. It's one of his moods; the kind of mood Greg has witnessed years before John. He's been alone for three weeks though. It must have played on his nerves. He dares not think of what else could have put him in this state.

He leaves John and Sherlock alone in Baker Street. The pain in the shoulder is starting to hit now. He's thankful the bullet only scratched him.

The medics are tying the bandage on his left arm when Mycroft comes to see him.

"We are both collateral victims of your brother's recklessness now," Lestrade jokes because he doesn't really know what to say to the man whose brother is mad at him for taking care of him.

Mycroft doesn't smile. He just nods. "Thank you for what you have done for my brother. Your efficiency is much appreciated."

"He's my friend."

"Sherlock seems to surround himself with good people. Have a good day, Mr Lestrade."

The medic releases him shortly after Mycroft leaves, and relief washes over him.

It's all over.

  
  


  
  


When he gets home, he calls his sons. It's Wednesday and usually the boys are at home around this hour. It's Emma who answers.

Like he had thought, his brother told her about the men in his life before marrying her.

"You could have told me," she accuses. "I would have understood."

Yes, because saying how charming is Ursula Andress, and then commenting on how he found Sean Connery sexy, that was easy to do.

"The situation never arose, Emma. It didn't matter while we were married." _I_ didn't go anywhere else is implied in Greg's tone. "Pass me Brian, will you?"

They settle for pizza and cinema on Saturday. Life seems to be back on tracks.

It's nearing dinner time when Lestrade receives an impromptu visit from Mycroft Holmes. The burn is hidden with a satin scarf in the tone of the suit. Only a hint of neck is visible.

"There are things that need to be settled," Mycroft says without any preamble. "Tomorrow evening, you'll be giving a conference explaining how  _everything_  was planned. MI5 with Scotland Yard. Possibly Interpol. Details are being tailored as we speak. You shall be informed of them over lunch tomorrow. A car will be expecting you here at noon."

"So now your brother is Bond, and you're M? What does that make John?"

Mycroft smiles, "I do not think Ian Fleming wrote a character befitting the relationship that my brother and John have."

"They're brothers in arms, partners in crime." Lestrade has always said that. To John even, and he had agreed.

Mycroft makes the tiniest movement with his head and turns for the door.

"Wait."

Lestrade goes to his kitchen and takes out a bottle with an ointment in it, pours half of it in another flask and adds some olive oil.

He doesn't know why is doing that, perhaps to give himself good conscience. He's only checking Mycroft's collar because of the burn, isn't he?

"An old remedy for burns." He gives the flask to Mycroft who holds it as far from his suit as possible between two fingers.

"Should ease the pain."

"Thank you." And Mycroft Holmes departs from the flat with an old remedy that a so called witch gave his mother years ago. But it works.

Right. It's been a long day, and Lestrade needs to go to bed.

  
  


The next morning, he rings John to see if he knows anything about what's going to be said on the telly. John knows nothing yet. He explains that Mycroft Holmes came around, and John is surprised. "Didn't think he'd make a house-call yesterday if he's going to see you again today." Yes, he found it odd too, but Lestrade doesn't give it a second thought.

The car is in front of his door at noon sharp; Lestrade recognises the driver who gave him the gun yesterday.

Once in the restaurant, he's puzzled. Mycroft is waiting at a table for two on his own with a massive file by his side. He expected more people to be there. He's not going to complain though; having lunch with Mycroft Holmes seems like a good prospect. He takes the seat.

"Mycroft." He doesn't mean it; using the man's first name feels a little odd since they don't exactly know each other. It's a slip of his tongue, but it'll have to do.

"Mr Lestrade."

"Greg, please."

The former detective is pleasantly surprised to see a waiter bring them Muscat. It proves that Mycroft Holmes isn't taking this meeting as purely professional then. It suits Lestrade just fine.

Mycroft explains to him how's going to be. The conference is scheduled for the six o'clock news,Lestrade will have to explain how all of it was planned by the government. From Moriarty getting loose after the trial to Sherlock’s staged death. Moriarty's suicide after his greatest enemy’s death is only a bonus. The part of Kitty the journalist who spread the lies of Sherlock being a fraud will demonstrate the power of Moriarty, bending a journalist to help him. It'll be the one thing the government didn't plan and couldn't stop.

The attention will be focused on how Scotland Yard and other forces managed to take down a whole crime organisation. Sherlock will only appear as a tool when he's in reality the brain.

"It's better for him if he doesn't get the attention. And he agreed with that. Only the result counts for him."

Lestrade notices how the British government is washing its hands too; the three companies that went down were apparently tracked for years, and they had managed to expose their flaws only now with 'an agent' working from the inside.

The thought of Sherlock cooperating with any authorities makes Lestrade laughs.

By the time they reach dessert, they've finished the file.

"You will of course be named a Detective Inspector again. Some thought of naming you Chief Superintendent."

"No," Lestrade cuts him. "I don't want to sit behind a desk all day," he jokes. It's the reason he says aloud. But he's made it to DI on his own, and intends on climbing the ladder without any unfair help.

Mycroft seems strangely pleased by Lestrade's outburst.

"And Sherlock, what does he get out of this?"

"He will be officially a consultant, and will have access to all the crime scenes without referring to any hierarchy."

"Basically, it's staying the way it was." Lestrade snorts.

Mycroft takes something out of his pocket and puts it on the table between them. It looks suspiciously like a cheque. Lestrade doesn't even reach for it.

"It's the usual pay for agents for the kind of mission you executed at Baker Street yesterday."

"Well, I'm not an agent, and the government will probably find a better way to use it."

What he did was protect and help a friend. You don't get paid for that.

Mycroft slips back the cheque in his pocket and stands. Lestrade follows.

"In case you have any questions." Mycroft Holmes extends a blank business card with only an handwritten number of it.

"Thanks."

"Also," Mycroft pauses. If Lestrade wouldn't knew better he'd think the man is hesitating. "The... oil you gave me, it was rather effective. Thank you."

"Glad it worked."

They shake hands. Lestrade's hand lingers in Mycorft's a little more than it should to be polite, but he doesn't care.

When he's back home, he starts on reading the file. They only went through the important specifications at the restaurant and Greg wants to read it all. What Sherlock actually did is detailed too, and he can't help but feel impressed by the consultant detective.

  
  


Around five pm, a car arrives to get him to Scotland Yard. He briefly calls his sons to warn them to watch the telly and goes to make history.

When he's back, he filters the calls. He only answers Gregson and Dimmock – he knows their wishes are real – and then calls his sons. They seem excited about it for only two minutes before asking what they'll be seeing at the cinema.

He expects a call from John or Mycroft, but he receives none. He watches telly and goes to bed. Life feels almost normal again. He drifts off instantly.

John calls him the next morning around ten. He congratulates him on the conference and invites him for dinner, take-away. Sherlock had apparently forgot to warn his mother he was not actually dead, and she was meeting him for dinner and sermon in the city. Greg almost wishes he could see that.

When he goes there, the take-away has just been delivered. John is always a precise man in timings. They sit down and turn on the telly on a rugby programme that they both ignore.

"How's Sherlock settling with all that?"

"Pretty well, I'd say. He's not the hero in this. Not much attention in the end, which is what he wants."

"Good." Greg pauses. "And you?"

"I'll punch him once a day until I'll think it's enough. But happy. So happy."

It's not something you get, a second chance with someone you thought dead. The conversation seems at a pause, neither of them knowing what to say next.

"So, you got a house-call from Mycroft. Sherlock says you should be worried."

Greg laughs. "Why?"

"I don't know, to be honest. But it's not something Mycroft Holmes does if he can avoid it."

The conversation stays with him when he leaves the flat. He knows Mycroft is gay. Sherlock's has mentioned it once in the earlier days when his brother came personally to pick him up at a crime scene, "I wish he had a man to distract him from me." At least, that's how he had interpreted it at the time.

It makes Lestrade ponder on the current states of his life. He's got to see his boys on week-end; he's got his job back. Sherlock is not dead. Things seem to come back on tracks.

Once on back in his flat, he takes out his mobile and the white card with the lonely number on it.

"Hello, Mycroft? I hope I am not interrupting anything?"

He isn't, and he hangs up the phone with a promise of dinner. Life does seem to be back on its tracks.

**Author's Note:**

> The burn oil actually "exists". My grandma was given some by a woman who said was a witch when she was young and she's kept it, adding olive oil after she used some. It does work on minor burns, (prevents scarring) don't ask me why.


End file.
